


Couturier

by Ezlebe



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lingerie Design, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cunnilingus, F/F, Femlux, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Rule 63, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 07:16:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15456132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezlebe/pseuds/Ezlebe
Summary: Ren looks back with a glance to catch Hux leaning forward over her knees, staring at the window with an elegant turn of her neck. The narrow slip of sun strikes a golden bar across her face, turning her lashes practically luminescent, trailing down across her shoulder and fading at the base of her neck, resting along a few inches of skin that sit exposed by the low cut of her blazer.Ren swallows tightly, convincing herself that it can’t be on purpose – how could it be on purpose? It’s not as if Hux would just know the particular angle of the sun to turn herself into an enticing visual metaphor for forbidden desire.





	Couturier

**Author's Note:**

> For [Luo](https://twitter.com/Luo_Ham?lang=en)! Who helped come up with the fic and puts up with my shit.

“Will boyshorts look good with this pattern?”

“Definitely, it’s very flattering,” Ren mumbles, lying a little and pulling a short pin from between her lips. Hopefully, Hux won’t walk in and catch her doing it; she doesn’t need to get scolded in front of a customer, then blamed for the bad publicity when the customer inevitably puts it on Twitter. Again.

Said customer turns suddenly, posing slightly with an obvious peek into the mirror. 

Ren drops her hands slightly, biting her lip to divert some of her frustration. "Mrs. Fisher, _please_ hold still." 

“Oh, sorry.” Fisher hums absently, the apology undeniably done by rote. She drops back to her heels, ceasing her fidgeting for fifteen fucking seconds. “Did you do this to your own dress?”

Ren shakes her head, covering a grimace by bending down to grab a stray length of elastic from the wood floor. “Not yet.”

“How awkward,” Fisher says, voice pitching some with actual regret, a pair of fingers nervously tapping at her thigh. “I thought you must be married.”

“It’s okay,” Ren mutters, carefully stitching together the placeholder backing in loose loops. She practically has a script for this conversation – she’s had it during _literally_ every one of these dress-to-lingerie fittings.

Fisher gives an idle little click of her tongue, apparently keen on keeping the noise going, like Ren is some kind of hairdresser. “What gave you the idea to do this, then?”

“Weddings mean a lot to people,” Ren says, boredly repeating the sales line that Hux has beaten into the back of her mind since she pitched the idea. It _had_ been a good direction in the end; it got them a lot of press, made them a lot of money. It doesn’t mean Ren has to enjoy talking to these romance-addled newlyweds. “We wanted to create some way to remember that day more sensually.”

“It’ll definitely do that,” Fisher says, her voice filling with pride, gesturing downward and having little concern for how she nearly smacks into Ren’s nose. “My husband will love taking this off far more than the dress.”

Ren hums noncommittally, tucking the lace together with a narrow eye to the woman’s backside. She doesn’t look the type to enjoy an appearance of the whorls groping between her legs, but changing it with the same cut of the dress would be near impossible at this point.

“I can set someone up with you, if you like,” Fisher says, stepping forward when Ren motions for her to move around and try the comfort; it has pins in it right now, making her wince, and Ren is only a little vindictive. “I know a few men who don’t mind a big girl.”

Ren rolls her eyes, stepping toward her kit and pulling at a drawer. “Not really my type.”

“Oh,” Fisher intones, tutting shortly and looking back in the mirror; to her credit, she barely misses a beat. “Guess that’s how you know what looks good on a girl, eh?”

Ren forces herself to look back up with a tight smile, holding a pair of cups between her hands. “It’s really about how you think you look, not me, Ms Fisher. Now which sort of cup would you like?”

“Push-up, please,” Fisher says, her answer predictable as she reaches out to feel the padding of the cup. She huffs when Ren steps back, seeing fit to continue with the conversation otherwise undeterred. “What about that saucy assistant? I bet she thinks she knows better.”

“Uh, maybe,” Ren agrees, with a half-truth; Hux _definitely_ thinks she knows better, but usually she’s subtle about it with clients. Unless, Fisher called her an assistant to her face. “Did she do –“

“No, no,” Fisher exclaims, gesturing dismissively and affecting a thoroughly shamefaced look. She’s not the first to lose their nerve trying to say something bad about Hux. “I simply feel like I’m at the headmistress’ office when we speak, as if I’m going to be in trouble.”

“Oh,” Ren hums, bending down to pick a pair of fallen pins from the ground. “Yeah. She does that.”

* * *

“Boy shorts?” Hux scoffs, recrossing her legs from where she perches on the edge of the fitting table. “They’ve been out of style for months – she should have gone for a brief.”

Ren rolls her eyes, thankful for the opportunity to look away from the long stretch of Hux’s thighs. She always gets caught between shame and arousal when Hux wears a skirt like that, feeling like a lecher, though Hux must know what she looks like, even if it’s just for her own ego, as she practically recreates Basic Instinct in the middle of the studio.

She hums and does something that causes table to give a low creak, prompting Ren to look back with a narrow glance and catch her leaning forward over her knees, staring at the window with an elegant turn of her neck. The narrow slip of sun strikes a golden bar across her face, turning her lashes practically luminescent, trailing down across her shoulder and fading at the base of her neck, resting along a few inches of skin that sit exposed by the low cut of her blazer.

Ren swallows tightly, convincing herself that it can’t be on purpose – _how_ could it be on purpose? It’s not as if Hux would just _know_ the particular angle of the sun to turn herself into an enticing visual metaphor for forbidden desire.

A quiet knock breaks the relative tension, and Ren looks to the door with a relieved exhale. “What?”

“Excuse me, Miss Hux, Ms Organa, a man is – ” Mitaka pauses, his eyes darting conspicuously behind Ren to Hux, going wide and leading into a bizarrely choking sort of cough. “A man downstairs says he has a lunch appointment. With the owner. He also um, said he wasn’t sure it was the right day? But I couldn’t answer that question.”

Ren holds Mitaka’s gaze for a moment and wishes she didn’t know exactly who that was, could pretend it’s just some confused oddball that wandered into the shop, but tragically she’s already made the reservations. She sighs and glances backward to Hux, gesturing with her chin to the main shop. “Come on.”

“Excuse me?” Hux says, flatly skeptical, though she follows all the same, slipping from the worktable with a quiet thunk of heels on the aged wooden floor.

Han stands near the display window, peering at a set with a single narrowed eye and a recognizable uncertainty. He turns when Ren reaches the bottom of the staircase, a wide grin bursting out across his face and arms going wide in a markedly self-satisfied gesture. “Hey, brat – guess who made it on time?”

“For once,” Ren says, taking a few steps forward and suffering the customary slap across her bicep; the affected wringing out of a hand like she’s made of stone.

“Harder to get sidetracked when someone else is flying the plane,” Han says, a grimace flickering across his face, only to settle back into something like a smirk. “But I didn’t get stopped at customs.” 

“Right. Anyway, _Han_ , this is my… my Hux,” Ren introduces, feeling a peculiar sensation curl at the base of her gut, tight and uncomfortable, undeniably mortified. She had thought this would go okay; have a quick, likely argumentative, brunch with her dad and Hux, then… Shit, she didn’t think this out _at all_. “And Hux, this is my father, Han Solo.”

“Oh, hey,” Han interjects, before Hux can say a word, a terrible, knowing smile spreading across his face. He glances quickly to Ren in visible incredulity, then pushes past her to hold out a hand in front of Hux. “I didn’t expect to meet _you_ here. Chewie’ll be sad he missed it.”

Hux blinks back, understandably bemused, and slowly takes his hand for a single shake. “Nice to meet you, as well, Mr Solo. I manage your daughter’s business.”

“Do you?” Han says, his expression only getting more presumptuous. “You’ve done a great job. And just call me Han.”

“Of course,” Hux says, her eyes flicking over to catch Ren’s, gaze narrowing, “I should have known.”

Ren regrets ever having anything in common with her father. “We should get going,” she says, gesturing toward the door with a short clear of her throat. “The reservations are for 12:30.”

Hux glances back to the shop for a quick moment, workaholic cogs visibly turning, but Ren is certain enough that she’s now realized why Unamo and Mitaka were scheduled for the same time.  She looks back to Ren, lips momentarily pinching, “Let me grab my clutch.”

“Clutch?” Han repeats, leaning forward with a curious grunt.

Ren rolls her eyes, listening to the short clicks of Hux’s heels as she disappears into the back. “A tiny bag she uses because she _refuses_ to let me put pockets into her clothes.”

Han narrows his eyes. “They don’t come with pockets?”

“It ruins the lines,” Hux interjects, giving a pointed gesture to the outline of Ren’s wallet in her jeans, then to the phone in her other pocket. “Some of us are perfectly capable of holding onto our things without leaving them places.”

“Shut up,” Ren mutters, reaching out and grabbing the door, pulling it open and tempted to shove Hux as she walks past, only to instead glance down reflexively and have that vindictiveness replaced with guilty admiration. She will never understand how most of Hux is made of pretty twigs, but her ass is just – it’s just _undeniable_.

Han clears his throat as the step out onto the street, one elbow nudging into Ren’s side; well, he definitely saw the moment of weakness. “So what fancy place did you set up, kid?”

“It’s a café,” Ren says, pointing down the narrow street, toward the end where the stone buildings give way into the river walkway. “You can see the Tower Bridge from it.”

“As long as the food is as good as the view,” Han says, voice lilting up and shoving both hands in his pockets. “Plane food was garbage.”

Hux offers a low hum, flat and markedly superior. “Most of the places on the river are simply overpriced.”

“This one is worth it,” Ren argues, turning to glare at Hux for a short moment before peeking to Han. She finds herself incidentally catching his raised brow, and realizes with sudden unease she’s only defending her choice because a tiny, stupid part of her wants him to have a good time; wants Hux to enjoy it, too. She swallows hard and looks down at the road, longing for when she was nineteen and couldn’t give less of a shit. “We go there all the time.”

“Ah,” Hux intones, her voice echoing now with rare approval, as they step onto the main walkway, paved with worn stone and teeming with tourists. “That one.”

A mildly anxious silence settles into the space between them, though that could only be from Ren’s end. She’s starting to wish now she’d insisted on Han visiting maybe _never_ , rather than practically volunteering to host him for an afternoon while he waits for his flight to Helsinki. She glances anxiously to Hux, but finds herself oddly calmed by the sight of her rapidly typing into her phone, likely replying to an email with scathing competency.

“You know, I was the one who encouraged her to get into this,” Han says, interrupting the silence in typical unpredictable direction, evidently turning his conversation towards Hux. “The fashion thing. Maybe a little accidentally, but good things usually are.”

“I see,” Hux says politely, making a _barely_ half-hearted show of looking away from her phone. The speed at which she’s decided not to take Han seriously is almost commendable.

“Oh yeah,” Han says, shrugging upward with a grin audible in his voice, likely glad to receive any response at all. “We used to watch the Victoria Secret show on TV together.”

Hux goes quiet for a telling moment, her discomfort visible at the way she drops her phone to her side; the tightening of her swinging hands. She glances sharply to Ren, mouth curling, “I didn’t know that.”

“She didn’t tell you?” Han says, mouth twisting now with visible disbelief. He looks conspicuously up and down Hux, as if to confirm his own eyes, then peeks suspiciously to Ren. “I’d have thought you knew – ”

“Han,” Ren interrupts, speaking over him and feeling her heart thud against her throat. “Shut up.”

Han actually falls quiet, but his fixed stare is practically a lecture, until he stops abruptly on a heel and turns to lean back heavily into a nearby railing, as if to ground himself before bringing up his unsolicited opinion. “Really?” He exhales a slow, judgmental breath. “Wow. Kid. That’s kind of sad.”

Hux interjects with a sharp and demanding clear of her throat. “I should know _what_?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ren says, gritting her teeth against badly suppressed dread.

“Ben just – uh… Let’s just say she got a little _obsessed_ with one of the girls?” Han says, eyes on Ren, speaking slow and nodding with every next word like he’s going along with some script he’s been given – it’s no wonder he’s such a second-rate criminal. He turns to Hux with another patented bullshit smile, gesturing loosely, “Looked her up and started drawing her in all these outfits – real ones too, not just underwear. We all thought it was just a crush at first, but then she switched her major when she got back to school.”

“Ah,” Hux intones, going quiet for a beat, then glancing to Ren with a strange almost-grimace flickering through her expression. “I never thought to ask your inspiration.”

Ren shrugs and looks away, staring at the river as it flows under the bridge, and finds herself at an impasse – to shove Han or jump herself. Or, she can push first and just go in after him.

“I still think it was a crush, though,” Han says, leaning in close to Hux, one hand over the side of his mouth as if he thinks that is in any way subtle. “But that’s none of my business.”

“None of this is!” Ren snaps, immediately feeling every eye on the path turn to her. She clears her throat, shoulders hunching, and wills her thudding pulse to slow with a long breath through her nose.

It works well enough until a shrill siren breaks the relative tension, followed by Hux drawing her phone like a weapon and barking her own name into it.

“Holy shit,” Han gasps quietly, hand over his chest in dramatic fashion. “You kids are trying to kill me.”

“What do you mean you can’t fulfill the order?” Hux snaps into the phone, turning slightly at the waist and badly hiding her curdling expression. “Your representative – ! Give me someone who can!”

Ren rolls her eyes to the sky, unable to hear the scattered excuses in their entirety through the tinny speaker, but the desperate apologies to _Miss Hux_ are unmistakable. The severity in Hux’s tone makes her give another contemplative thought to the river, if this time regarding collateral.

“I have to address this, Organa,” Hux says with a pointed scowl, taking a few steps and a deep breath, her head shaking as she returns the phone to her ear. Hopefully, it’s not about the crystals – the majority of the new designs rely on them.

Ren watches Hux stalk off toward an unsuspecting pavilion and its tourists, all the while chewing her lips and refusing to look sideways, lest it encourage her to actually slug her own father. She exhales after another few moments attempting to calm down, breath hissing through her teeth. “For _fuck’s_ sake, Han.”

“You need help, kid,” Han says, his tone actually pitying. “I can’t believe you haven’t said anything.”

“Just don’t,” Ren says, reaching up and scrubbing both her hands up into her hair, consequently loosening the bun at the back and letting it all fall out heavy around her shoulders. She isn’t trying to hide behind it; the band was just pulling at her scalp. “I can still call Mother to come get you.”

Han rolls his eyes, turning around from his lean back against the railing to face the river with a disapproving huff.

Ren watches the lazy drift of the noon crowd for a few minutes, trying to ignore the strain ratcheting up in her shoulders, but it can only get so tight. “What do you expect me to do?” She snaps, glancing over with a grimace to find Han looking back, startling herself, but managing to glare. “Let her find out I’m some creep who’s been stalking her since before I even met her?”

Han tips his head slowly, drawing out the action with a hum. “I don’t want to call my own daughter a coward – ”

“But you’ll do it anyway,” Ren finishes, familiar enough with the admonishment; it’s a favorite for pointing out unflattering character traits – sometimes she’s a coward, other times she’s a bully.

“I’m only trying to say,” Han begins, his voice dialing low and entering a dreaded tone that Ren associates entirely with uncomfortable conversations and bad advice. “That I know you don’t have great examples of like, this shit. Neither me nor your mother are great at keeping our feet on the ground for too long; we like running around, pissing each other off, playing catch up with each other.” He gestures around the city, shrugging a single shoulder, and now, underneath the anxious energy of the conversation, there is suddenly worry that Mother is in town, too. “But it’s _us_.”

Ren shifts her jaw, looking down to stare hard at a crack in the stones. If only _she_ could get a call, but she’d left her phone upstairs; anyone important would call Hux before her, and they did. Her lack of accountability has left her to suffer Han’s attempt at parenting, like the worst sort of karma.

“I just don’t want you to avoid anything good because you’re worried it’ll be like Leia and me,” Han continues, reaching out and batting at Ren’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “You and us are wired differently, kid. That’s all.”

Ren traces the crack to another, idly grinding her teeth. He says that so flippantly, like she hadn’t been there in the uncomfortable middle of her own parents’ slow comprehension that they were _wired different_ , as if they had known this all at the beginning of their marriage, rather than after they’d tried settling down for a decade.  And sent Ren away to private school at seven, letting her think it was because they’d get along better without her.

Han keeps quiet for a few more seconds, as if actually expecting her to respond, then seems to finally take a hint and drop that line of conversation in favor of another. “How did you even get her working for you?”

“I don’t know,” Ren mutters, glancing up and warily catching Han’s eye, finding him thoughtful with his mouth set in a serious line. She shrugs forward, uncrossing her arms and shoving both hands into her pockets. “It’s like she just showed up. I was barely getting the label off the ground, the shop looked like shit, I was having trouble with my damned _peerage_ status, but then… Then she came in and just rescued the whole fucking thing in like two months. Like Mary Poppins – but mean.”

“Rescued you,” Han repeats, humor returning to his expression with a low laugh.

“Whatever,” Ren says, shifting her feet on the ground and rolling her eyes toward the river. It’s hard to think very much on how she feels about Hux, especially now, after fighting with her and really getting to know her; her moods and opinions and penchants making her _real_. “I thought I was going nuts for a while? Like… that I was imagining that the one person I wanted to see in my stuff was walking around in my store. At my trunk shows. Talking to me.”

“Well,” Han says, glancing pointedly down the street toward the shop, then sliding his eyes back to Ren. “You weren’t. Maybe think about that a bit.”

Ren bites at the inside of her lip, trying not to get angry _again_ at the fact Han always refuses to listen. “I have,” she says, speaking carefully light at the same time she tightens her hands in her pockets. “It’s not something I can risk. I want her around in any way I can have her, even if it’s…  not.”

“Alright, kid,” Han huffs back, fingers tapping dull along the rail. “I won’t tell your mom.”

Ren hums a low gratitude, grimacing at the mere _idea_ of Mother coming in to micromanage her love life, then inevitably moving on to the day-to-day at the shop. It would end with Hux quitting and leaving forever; nothing to do with Ren’s feelings, just simply unable to put up with Leia good-naturedly trying to ‘correct’ everything behind her back.

A familiar, pointed cough startles Ren into turning around, and she finds Hux sans phone and bearing an odd expression, mouth pinched and eyes catching Ren’s for a moment that feels like a gut-punch – how much had she heard? It gets more difficult to know by the way she nods shortly, glancing over Ren’s shoulder with a sudden evasiveness.

“I need to go back to the shop,” Hux says, lifting her hand to reveal the phone still held in it, being turned in short half circles with her thumb. She exhales shortly, “Now.”

“What?”

“The crystal supplier has started backpedaling, which I can only assume is related to the order size,” Hux explains, looking off towards the shop with an unreadable frown folding across her mouth – not quite angry, yet undeniably irked. “I need to… _scan_ and send them records to convince them we’ve the grounds to sue for breaking a contract. It’s very time sensitive.”

Ren finds herself struggling to catch Hux’s eye for once, glancing away after failing and shrugging weakly, trying to ignore the slow sinking of disappointment behind her sternum. It’s not like Hux can’t call and have an assistant scan it for her, but Ren hardly wants to hear Hux flatly saying she’s had enough after barely ten minutes. “Do you want any– ”

“No, thank you,” Hux interrupts primly, looking to Han in the next moment and giving a quick, insincere smile. “It was good to met you, Mr Solo.”

“You too?” Han says, sounding vaguely blindsided when Hux summarily turns away and toward the shop, walking back down the street without another word.

“She’s getting a fucking cruller,” Ren mutters, shifting her jaw with a creak. She’s not going to apologize, because she didn’t do a damned thing, but… Hux could be feeling awkward around Han. Or something.

Han gives a bark of laughter, his lingering bewilderment virtually audible. “I had no idea you were such a demanding boss.”

Ren rolls her eyes, shoving off the railing and starting toward the café, gold-trimmed overhang just visible from here. “Did you almost die or something?”

“What?”

“You’re being…” Ren shrugs, gesturing with a short spin of her hand. “ _Paternal_.”

Han sputters in offense, quickly catching up and falling into step. “Maybe I’m just trying to get a little respect.”

“It’s not working,” Ren says, dropping her hand and hovering over her pocket as an idea forms, then letting it fall at her side; she won’t text Hux and demand she come back after she’s done _scanning_ , even if it might work. “Maybe visit everyone’s little favorite next time – she already loves you.”

Han is quiet for a few seconds, then sighs through his nose. “ _Benny_.”

* * *

“The new backing is delicate,” Ren snaps, snatching the panties from Mitaka with a snarl. She carefully slips the invading thread from the waistband, exhaling in relief when the satin comes out unharmed; she points at a wider loop of lace, shoving it in his face to make sure he sees it. “Put the tag through here – and loose! It’s not fucking permanent.”

“Ren,” Hux says, her voice cutting through the shop and hitting Ren square at the base of her neck, the chill prompting small hairs to raise. “We need to discuss something.”

“Do we?” Ren says, warily turning around and bracing, only for Hux to completely walk past her to the staircase. She blinks in disbelief; Hux loves having an audience for scolding Ren. “Upstairs – really?”

Hux doesn’t answer, or even look back, simply disappearing completely to the next floor. She can be heard opening the workshop, door hitting the stopper with a bizarre amount of force.

Ren raises an eyebrow, reflexively swallowing, and looks down to find even Mitaka staring at the ceiling with visible dread. “Has she been pissed this whole time?”

Mitaka shrugs weakly, dropping his chin and hesitantly resuming his tagging; the needle slips in and out of the lace loops with careful fingers, and to his credit, just as directed. “She went to her office.”

Ren dares to linger for a few seconds longer, then sighs, reaching out to wrap her hand around the bannister. She has to force herself up the steps, wondering what the point is of trying to make it private; if there’s one thing Hux can do, it’s yell a place down. The _French_ are going to know whatever Ren did wrong, not to mention Mitaka.

“Hux,” Ren greets carefully, dragging her teeth along her lower lip, stepping into her workshop and leaning into the worktable with one hand. She watches as Hux shuts the door, trying not to hear the click of the latch like a thunderclap, and diverts the thought with a glance to the window. “Seriously? Is there something you can’t ask me in front of _Mitaka_?”

“I overheard you talking to your father,” Hux says, arms settling at her back, standing firm in a stance that comes straight from her oft maligned military academy; the posturing needless for how effectively her words drop like bombs in the hollow space between them. “I know you’ve still got some _obsession_ with a woman you’re not even in contact with. I just need to know it won’t effect anything in the long run.”

Ren stares frozen for a few seconds, mentally rebounding between Hux finding out, to Hux having completely misunderstood every goddamn word and now being bafflingly angry about it. “I am in contact with her,” she says, hearing her own voice break the quiet without quite believing it. She clears her throat and looks away from Hux’s eyes, feeling herself descend into further pretexts and unable to stop it. “Email, and stuff. I’ve even got Polaroids of her in some of my experimental designs.”

Technically, it _is_ true.

Hux thankfully seems convinced by the lie, at least, blinking back and taking a sharp breath. “You’ve had her model for you – _here_?”

“Obviously,” Ren says, reaching up and smoothing her hair over her shoulder. She starts anxiously twisting her fingers into the curls and manages to ignore the urge to tug, to bodily shut herself up. “Like I said, it’s not that… I just have her over when she has time. It’s not a big deal.”

Again, true.

“It must be some sort,” Hux disagrees, her voice going pitchy, a peculiar look suddenly lighting up her eyes – a mix of fury and… something else, stringent and harried. She gestures across the workshop, hand quick and sweeping, “Your father said all your first designs were for her.”

“A lot of them still are,” Ren says, glancing to the boudoir with an idle thought to one she’s been working on for a few days. But it has wings – she knows how Hux feels about wings. Even if they’re skeletal.

Hux goes still for a moment, then shakes her head, and the odd expression on her face twists into a familiar sneer. “She must not have yet reached her expiration date, then,” she spits, because she’s literally the worst of humanity.

“ _No_ ,” Ren says, feeling absurdly protective and just a little confused; Hux isn’t usually so cruel when they’re talking about models, almost the opposite, considering she’s got the experience. “Even if she were eighty, I’d put her in my collection. In a _show_.”

Hux shifts back on a heel, scoffing, “Lucky girl.”

“I don’t know how you can say that stuff,” Ren says, dragging her teeth across her lower lip. She glances up quick, risking catching Hux’s eyes directly, and quickly focuses near her cheek again when she finds only a bright gleam of anger. “What if someone said that about you?”

“Oh, Ren,” Hux says, speaking slow, almost forcefully condescending. “They have.”

“Right,” Ren mutters, grinding her molars for a moment in loose attempt to dispel a heady wave of her own fury. If anyone ever says that about Hux around her, she might be charged for assault. Again. “Obviously.”

Hux hovers a few moments more, the anger in her expression visibly fading by measures as the silence ticks on into outright discomfort. She takes a markedly shaky breath, moving sideways and reaching for the doorknob. “Anyway, Zara cancelled,” she says, in a tone that could only be marginally described as snappy, now almost tepid. “Your afternoon is open.”

The door slams behind her, disturbing Ren’s coat off the hanger and dropping it to the floor with a soft sweep of fabric; a discordant clang of a buckle.

Ren stares at it, exhaling slow and suddenly feeling her face burning, rage and regret already churning under skin. She reaches up to slide a hand through her hair again, not bothering to ignore the impulse to pull now, deliberately making it painful to the point it feels like she’s ripping hair from her scalp.

Hux is – a muse, for all it’s a trite way to put it, and Ren just… just shoved her out the door with a foolish, prideful lie. And called her old. Let her call _herself_ old! Ren just missed the chance to disagree!

Ren turns around, still pulling at her hair, and finds her eyes catching hard on the project closet. She glances backward at the door, then takes a deep breath, marching toward the closet and throwing the doors open; the wings sit limply in the back, barely hidden by commissions. She drags the them out, grimacing when she pulls accidentally on loose threads around the angular bones at the top.

She spreads each wing across the floor, frowning at the state of the pins in odd places. The wings are tall and black, a macabre manner of regal, but she’s been wanting to twine in gold to accent the finer edges. She doesn’t have an appointment, so she can do what she’d like – if that involves a project that may very well never see the light of day, so be it.

The burst of productivity nearly ends with a chinelle needle straight in Ren’s eye, a knock startling her into curling forward, and a quick turn of her wrist shows a time far, far later than she expected – she may not have an appointment, but she should probably _move_. She uncrosses her legs, stretching out, and rolls her eyes when the knock comes sharper a second time. “ _What_?”

“Ms Organa,” Unamo says, meekly opening the door with a tight curl of fingers on the edge, poking her head into the jamb. She stares down at Ren on the floor, then clears her throat. “Miss Hux has been outside smoking for like an hour.”

Ren finds herself stumbling to her feet, as if that might help her hear better. “What?”

“Doph thinks she’s been crying, too,” Unamo says, glancing behind herself and down the staircase. She shrugs, looking back with a discomfited twitch at her mouth. “She’s probably not, but – ”

Ren feels her eyes go wide, shoving out the door and too rushed to feel guilty about it when Unamo audibly hits into the stair banister. She reaches the bottom of the stairs and panics, unsure about which door it could be, and guesses for the one closest to Hux’s office; the one covered in warnings _not_ to go out there for needless frivolities such as smoking. She finds the door to be just barely ajar, a sliver of wood held to keep the lock from clicking, and nudges it open to peek outside.

Hux stands outside just as reported, a conspicuous plume rising from her fingers. She’s doing the thing where she talks to herself, muttering unintelligibly and shaking her head, only interspersed here and there with badly choked sniffles. “ – so stupid,” she mutters, thumb and middle finger rubbing at her forehead, cigarette bobbing with the movement. “ _Stupid_.”

Ren manages to hold herself back for a few seconds, taking a deep breath and knowing she should close the door; pretend it didn’t happen. She wonders if Hux got a call from her father, which never goes well, probably making her feel even worse since Han was here and – 

“Probably bloody _Aldridge_.”

Aldridge? The next shaky exhale absolutely crushes Ren into little bits of shame. If Hux is out here cursing the names of other models, in their thirties and recently wearing their collection in Paris, then it has nothing to do with surprise calls. She feels her hand tighten on the door as a sudden prickle of excitement spreads from her gut to her fingertips, realizing slow that… this is _great_. She can work with this; she might not get exactly what she wants, but she’ll get something – closer to Hux, at least. Maybe.

She carefully steps out, keeping her palm on the door so it sets back on the wood noiselessly, then raises her arms – only to pause; she’s never hugged Hux. She’s only even touched her in fittings. She waffles for another split second, then moves when Hux looks like she might turn around, hesitantly slipping arms around her waist.

Hux lifts her hands in surprise, cigarette dangling between fingers and ash threatening to fall on Ren’s forearm. She exhales wetly, startled and turning her head to look with wide eyes. “Ren? What are – ?”

“It’s you,” Ren interrupts, shoving her face into the back of Hux’s neck, ignoring a weak stab of guilt for taking advantage of the situation. The clipped edge of Hux’s undercut is soft and fine, and she smells a little like coffee and vanilla, but mostly those damned _cigarettes_. “Han recognized you, I – _We_ saw you on TV in that onyx bustier and you were so beautiful that I looked up all your shows. I’ve got like a thousand pictures on my phone from 2012.”

Hux stays quiet for a few moments, still tense, but she doesn’t try to shove off; if anything, the hand around Ren’s wrist goes tighter. “Of _me_?”

“Obviously,” Ren mutters, dragging her teeth hard over her lip. She bites back an excuse that the pictures where for pure aesthetic value, as she remembers being nineteen and vividly creating, and getting off to, an elaborate fantasy based on a backstage picture of Armie Hux putting on lacy thigh-highs. The lie would be too much even for her.

“Is this why you hired me?” Hux asks, her voice low and suspicious, if still a little unsteady.

Ren shakes her head, taking a deep breath and managing not to confess it was actually one of the reasons she _didn’t_ want Hux around. She’s worried so much about Hux finding out, embarrassing her and ruining everything. “I hired you because you do everything.”

“Of course,” Hux mutters, thankfully sounding more typically vexed, fading from anything that might preclude her quitting in a furor.

“But it’s why I hate the wedding fittings – not because I’ll never have one, even if I won’t,” Ren says, only to grimace hard and wonder desperately why the hell she had to go and say that; she doesn’t need to look even more pathetic. She clears her throat, focusing on the narrow fold of fabric under her chin, the fine detail of thread in the shape of whorls across Hux’s shoulders and down her arms that make up her blazer. “But so much I’ve designed is for you, and when I think about it, if I ever do get to do that, I’ll have to listen to you talk about how much who- _whoever_ you’re marrying will like it, and how much you’ll _want_ them to like it. I’ll have to agree, because of course they’ll like it; you’re an actual underwear model, but it – “

“Ren,” Hux interrupts, then proceeds to do some snake-like move that manages to twist her within the circle of Ren’s arms, revealing red-rimmed eyes as she lifts one hand to press lightly onto Ren’s exposed collarbone. “Stop your babbling.”

“I know it’s weird,” Ren says, looking down and away, unwilling to see more of Hux’s face looking like that, while talking about this – it’s strange to the point of discomfort. Her luck, the weather will spontaneously go from overcast to pouring just to match. “And you – ”

“Look at me,” Hux says, taking Ren by the chin and forcing her to look up into pale eyes. She seems far less irritated than she should be, considering how long Ren has been dreading Hux finding out about her stupid infatuation. “I don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind?” Ren repeats, feeling that prickle of excitement from earlier return as a bolt.

“It’s rather flattering,” Hux says, then gives a low hum, eyes sharp as a smirk turns up at the edge of her lips, “That I’ve inspired your success.”

Ren huffs at Hux’s comforting bout of egotism, hesitantly dropping her hands to narrow hips. She finds it hard suddenly to look away from Hux’s eyes, a beat of silence passing between them, and shifts forward –

“No,” Hux says, expression twisting, abruptly shoving Ren back and practically into the brick.

Ren swallows hard, curling a fist up near her chest while her stomach tightens into a rock. “I – I thought – ”

“Oh, don’t make that face,” Hux interrupts with a sigh, giving a short gesture with her still-occupied hand, flicking the ash from the mostly burnt-up filter. “I just don’t want to listen to you go on about these.”

Ren glances sideways at the stub and feels her nose curl up entirely on reflex. “You probably got cancer just – ”

“Ren,” Hux says flatly, brows going up and stern line settling across her mouth. “Do you want me to get the mouthwash or not?”

“Sorry,” Ren mutters, twisting her own expression into a sneer. She glances down Hux’s front, feeling a bad idea form, but doesn’t care enough to change her mind as she moves forward, bending down to lift Hux from the ground into a fireman carry and ignoring the ensuing yelp in her ear.

“Put me down!” Hux shrieks, kicking against the hold, though neither of her patent leathers jam into anything soft, which is a good sign. She does smack Ren in the small of her back, then grips hard enough at her jacket to pull at her shirt. “ _Down_ , now.”

“Not a dog,” Ren says, readjusting her hold on lean thighs – _wait_. She turns her head and narrows her eyes at the too-perfect facade of Hux’s skirt, unbroken by so much as a hint of a line. “Are you not wearing underwear?”

“Put me down,” Hux repeats stiffly, her whole body going tense, which is a glaring affirmative.

“I literally make your panties,” Ren says, trying to think of where she’s gone wrong; is the lace too coarse, or the elastic digging in?

“Never say that again,” Hux snaps, startling Ren by catching one toe on her side and managing to slither down and wrap her thighs around Ren’s waist, now practically perching. She lifts her chin, mouth set in a hard line. “Put me down, Organa.”

Ren stares up at her for a few moments, then shifts her forearms for better purchase. “But you just got comfortable.”

Hux closes her eyes for a short, visibly irritated moment, then relaxes some with a slow exhale. “I still need that mouth wash.”

Ren bites at her lower lip, silencing another insult, and directs them with a short turn toward Hux’s office. It’s only a few steps inside the door, and thankfully reached without any bothersome assistants happening upon them with questions.

“In any case,” Hux says, once Ren kneels to let her down without risking the tragic demise of slender ankles. “I do appreciate your underwear, Ren, I just happened to forgo any today.”

“Really short skirt, too,” Ren says, eyes dropping and her mouth feeling dry when Hux doesn’t so much as _attempt_ to tug it back down.

Hux shrugs with a low hum, stepping into her little en suite and reaching out to grab a small case from the back of her sink. She glances at Ren for a moment through the mirror, almost pointedly waving the small bottle of astringent in her face before downing a good measure.

The glorified powder room had been for laundry in one of the building’s other lives, but Hux had refused to let it be demoed, simply remodeling it and suiting it to her apparent need. Right now, Ren watches as Hux puts the mouthwash back, grabbing a thin tube and turning it for a beat, then popping it open and applying a coat of dark lacquer to her lips. She doesn’t wear full makeup very often, to the point that Ren is a little surprised such a color was in the kit at all.

“It is rather short, yes,” Hux says, belatedly returning to the conversation with a short turn around on a heel, drawing attention to her mouth with a wide smirk. “I hadn’t planned on seeing anyone but _you_ today. I was hoping you’d notice.”

“Well, that’s…” Ren blinks, embarrassed to realize she’s essentially smacking her lips. “Oh.”

Hux gestures with her chin behind Ren, brows raising, “Lock the door, then.”

Ren feels a skip in her chest and moves quick, subsequently fumbling like an idiot at the lock. She exhales hard once the tumbler finally clicks into place, turning back around, only to find Hux sitting behind her desk, prompting some sort of blind reflex for Ren to slip into her chair at the other side of it. It almost feels normal this way.

“Now,” Hux says, leaning forward and folding her hands on the desk, over her dumb ultramodern laser keyboard. “I am comfortable crossing the line of decency today; you, Ren?”

Ren nods shortly, nervously licking at her lower lip. “Yep.”

“Wonderful,” Hux says, her voice in a firm, satisfied tone, not unlike she’s just settled something for an actual meeting. She reaches up to her chic little blazer and pops the upper button, then the next, soon cutting her cleavage to her waistband and revealing that it’s not a low-cut shirt she’s wearing underneath, but instead goddamn _nothing_.

“Oh, you’re – you…” Ren trails off, caught on the paper-thin slip of skin beneath Hux’s blazer, shifting wider and thinner when Hux moves in her chair. It seems when Hux decides not to wear underwear, she is just as thorough with it as anything else.

“I was under the impression you see naked women all day, Ren,” Hux says, toying at the lapel with evident purpose. She slides a finger along the seam, almost like she’s going to take it the rest of the way off, then abruptly drops her hand. “Including me.”

“This context is – ” Ren takes a short breath, staring at the gentle swell of a breast caught in shadow, willing more to expose; it’s true, she’s seen it all, but never with this sort of anticipation. “Fittings are different.”

“They are,” Hux agrees, tapping her fingers against the metal desktop. She takes a deep breath, clearing her throat with an edgy manner of gravitas. “Though, in the spirit of honesty, I’ve fantasized often of fittings _not_ being so different.”

“Fuck,” Ren says, swallowing tight and glancing up to catch Hux’s eyes, finding them catlike and predatory. “You’re not – are you _serious_?”

“Terribly,” Hux says, her mouth widening from a smirk and nearly into a smile; a sight rare and practically fairy-tale. “I’ve been worried more than once you’d notice somehow. Hoped a bit, too.”

“Oh,” Ren intones, shifting in the chair, hearing the buttons of her pants squeak across the leather, somehow making her flush so much worse. She can feel her heart beating fast, this fantasy-turned-reality compelling blood to thrum in her veins and her skin flash hot. “I – I tried to be. Professional.”

Hux stands with a thoughtful hum, walking slowly around her desk, fingers trailing across the glass top like its piano keys. “Now?”

“Not trying so hard,” Ren mutters, knowing her face must be flooded with ugly red.

“Alright,” Hux says, leveraging herself up on top of her desk, skirt hiking up and leaving her thighs exposed against the glass just like in the workshop, only now with the knowledge she really isn’t wearing anything underneath. She crosses her legs, one kitten heel nudging against Ren’s knee. “Jacket first.”

Ren rolls her eyes, leaning forward and slipping the jacket off her shoulders. She holds it in her hands for a few seconds, knowing Hux would hardly tolerate her throwing it on the ground, but –

“I’ll take that,” Hux says, plucking the jacket from Ren’s hands and leaning back, exposing her breasts for a split second as she sets it onto her chair behind the desk. She doesn’t follow suit, though, instead returning to her position and tragically straightening her blazer, then gesturing with a pointed finger. “Now the shirt.”

Ren looks down at her own chest, grimacing slightly at the sight of straining buttons. She reaches up, hand hovering, then looks back to Hux for confirmation. “You want me to strip for you?”

“I do,” Hux says, folding her hands together in her lap, like she’s sitting for a show. “I think of the two of us, you’ve been rather buttoned-up.”

Ren rolls her eyes and starts in on the buttons of her top, parting them one-handed, and slowly exposing the line of her cleavage down to her waist. She wonders if she should be making this more sexy, but the slight tremor of her fingers is mortifying enough, threatening to oust her anxieties just doing this for Hux.

“That is a picture,” Hux says, startling Ren with a snap of fingers; a gesture for the shirt. She proceeds takes that with less care than the jacket, more concerned with using her other to reach out and press fingers to the lines of Ren’s bodysuit, light over the lace-trimmed cup and along her breast. “Your figure truly is envious.”

“I just have big tits,” Ren mutters, reaching up and running a hand through her hair, shaking it out a little and peeking down too make sure some falls over her chest. She thinks that looks suggestive, a little. 

“Oh, darling,” Hux says, shifting on the desktop with more purpose. “That’s only part of the appeal.”

Ren feels her stomach flip as Hux’s hand drifts down, realization rolling across her mind with the fingers gently tracing the tense lines of her bicep. “You like that – my muscle?”

Hux confirms with a vague hum, squeezing gently around the front of Ren’s arm. “The first time I saw you was at the Hosnia Core Boutique,” she says, her voice not _quite_ wistful, but certainly reflective. “Trying to get yourself a trunk show, remember that? It must have been two years ago now.”

Ren raises an eyebrow, trying not to lean too hard into Hux’s teasing path. “I don’t remember _you_.”

“You wouldn’t,” Hux says, clearly unsurprised, and she doesn’t seem to care. “We didn’t speak, and I was rather dressed down. But I was privy to a fight between you and Thrawn, after which you managed to push an entire seven-foot steel boudoir over onto the ground.”

“Shit,” Ren mutters, feeling her expression fall, arousal doused by embarrassment; the fact that she had a witness is news, and not particularly good. “I didn’t know anyone saw me do that.”

“You were _furious_ ,” Hux says, her hand going tight suddenly, squeezing around Ren’s shoulder in apparent excitement. “And like a scorned Amazon, you had the most amazing strength.”

Ren looks up to Hux’s face, finding her looking thoughtful in some middle-distance, and realizes almost easily why Hux may have marked that particular tantrum down as something tremendous. “You’d always wanted to tear apart a show, didn’t you?”

“So badly,” Hux admits, exhaling a heavy breath, brows pinching together thoughtfully, until she looks over with a start. Her eyes are bright and intense, somehow making Ren feel small, yet significant. “ _But_ I was also taken with you physically. Your hair was split across your face, black lips twisted into a snarl, fists clenched… I’d never seen anyone like you. I wanted to tame you.”

“I guess I’ll take it,” Ren mutters, trying to sound put-off, but she’s sure the heat across her face is making her glow.

“Now, don’t get stroppy,” Hux huffs quietly, letting go and leaning back on the desk. She gestures with a pair of fingers, curling impatiently, “Unzip.”

“It’s a bodysuit,” Ren says, feeling the pull of a scowl at the corner of her mouth. She tries not to get annoyed that Hux didn’t recognize it, but it proves too difficult. “We _sell_ these.”

Hux rolls her eyes, giving a put-upon sigh. “I didn’t think anyone actually _wore_ them.”

“They’re comfortable,” Ren says, sliding a hand down her front, across the delicate whorls of lace and the spread of spandex over her stomach. She has a momentary urge to go out in the shop, choose one of the thirty she must have laying around that will fit Hux, but instead she simply flicks the button of her jeans – the eagerness for this to continue far outweighs that impulse.

She stands from the chair with a low exhale, unclipping her belt and unbuttoning her fly, glad she made the choice to wear something from the new collection today. Hux has seen all of it obviously, but it’s she’s pretty sure she looks good in it, and the considering look Hux gives once Ren has her pants down supports the assumption.

“Actually,” Hux says, head tilting, a thoughtful moue pinching at her mouth. “You do look lovely in that glorified swimsuit.”

Ren turns around to show it off, furtively kicking her jeans behind the chair and hoping Hux doesn’t make her pick them up. She looks over her shoulder, playing the model for once, and feels her ears burn at the naked appreciation.

Hux clears her throat shortly, startling Ren with a stroke along the seam of her ass, snapping the thong of the bodysuit. “It’s a waste to have you designing – this ass should be in shows.”

Ren rolls her eyes, though the workout every morning isn’t for nothing, even if it’s mostly a way to burn off her temper. She just can’t remember anyone so brazenly praising the efforts, but she’s also not had much time for hook-ups in recent history – her last girlfriend had been more concerned with Ren looking at models, rather than saying she should join their ranks.

To Moira’s credit, the worry had been justified.

“Well,” Hux says, leaning back on the desk again, chin lifting in gesture as her eyes glance up and down Ren’s front. “Go on, then.”

Ren hesitantly reaches for a strap at her shoulder, sliding it off and quickly going for the other; she doesn’t know why she’s so nervous, Hux already said she was into her, went on about… Amazons or whatever, palmed her ass, yet she can’t help but think Hux is going to be disappointed. She shaved, at least, but she always shaves, and she knows Hux _doesn’t_ shave, so that doesn’t even mean anything.

“Ren,” Hux says, interjecting between thoughts with a tight voice. She reaches out, tugging on the hanging elastic under Ren’s arms, “Please just let me see your breasts. I’ve been thinking about it for months.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” Hux says, exhaling in a huff and eyes rolling practically out of her head. “Half the time you don’t even wear a real shirt and I can see your bra underneath. It’s absolutely _maddening_.”

Ren blinks, feeling her nerves evaporate as irritation replaces it almost like a habit. “You aren’t wearing any underwear. You think that keeps me sane?”

Hux barely misses a beat, shifting and distractingly recrossing her legs, which Ren now _knows_ is on purpose. “The state of my dress is the least of your mental problems.”

“Bitch,” Ren mutters, slipping the other strap off her arm. It’s suddenly more about not giving Hux leeway, rather than any anxiety, which is weirdly comforting.

“Cunt,” Hux responds briskly, a smirk firm across her face when Ren glances up to her with a half-hearted glare. She leans down slightly from her perch, kicking at Ren’s knee with her toe. “Oh, I’m _sorry_ , did I offend your American sensibilities?”

Ren shakes her head and, casually as she can, pulls the bodysuit down to her waist, refusing to glance down and be forced to _watch_ her breasts practically collapse without any support. She keeps her eyes on Hux instead, and is surprised to see her practically light up, something almost like a smile across her face, and hurriedly shoves the rest of the bodysuit off before she can ruin the lace.

“Look at you,” Hux breathes, reaching out but not quite touching, her fingers a ghost of pressure over Ren’s nipple. “Are they very sensitive?”

“A little,” Ren says, looking down and trying to ignore the impulse to prop them up, keep them looking perky and picture-perfect for the literal model in front of her. “They’re not like. Numb.”

Hux gets more bold in the following seconds, leaning forward on the desk and pressing both hands together on Ren’s tits, then roving further down her body. “For transparency’s sake, though, I’m clean – are you?”

“I haven’t fucked anything but a toy in a while,” Ren admits, swallowing a gasp as Hux’s fingers almost, but not quite, dip into her pussy, only cruelly teasing across her skin with soft touches. She reaches out and slides her own hand up Hux’s ribs, rubbing her thumb over a peaked nipple. “Last test was good.”

Hux hums low, then suddenly pulls Ren forward with a tug at her sides, tipping her head up and clearly angling for a kiss. It leads to a moment of requisite nose bumping, but the subsequent contact sparks a spread of heat across Ren’s skin, prickling down to her fingertips where they sit against Hux’s waist. The kiss starts off languid, Hux’s lips soft but waxy, though that’s forgotten when she opens her mouth, tongue teasing out Ren’s in short order for a few seconds of harsher nipping and brisk drags of sharp teeth.

Hux hums when they pull apart, hands trailing around Ren’s back, one squeezing against her ass. “Do you want a dam?”

Ren shakes her head haltingly and scrapes her teeth along her lower lip, feeling Hux continue to trace over her without once making a real move. She opens her mouth to mock, only to startle as Hux changes gears and thin hands move to ungently shove Ren down by the shoulder, forcing her easily to the rug just out of surprise.

“You’re kind of a pervert, aren’t you?” Ren says, realizing quickly she’s in the perfect position to see right up Hux’s skirt.

“Hush, Ren,” Hux scolds, summarily uncrossing her legs and slipping one leg over Ren’s shoulder, spreading her legs and exposing her pussy with only marginal fanfare; a little awkward skirt tugging. “You’re ruining the fantasy.”

Ren ignores the commentary and finds her eyes magnetized to the little thatch of clipped orange hair, the slight flush of arousal underneath it all. She realizes with some embarrassment that her mouth has started to water, a pulse hitting her cunt and prompting her to shift forward a bit, only barely stoppig herself from reaching down. She peeks up at Hux’s face, trying to judge if she should take her own initiative.

 “Wait a moment,” Hux says, curling her thigh tighter around Ren’s shoulder and pulling her in, fingers suddenly in her hair and pulling it away from her face. “Perfect.”

“Only now?” Ren says, setting her chin on the desktop and forcing an affected pout. She thinks if she stuck her tongue out far enough, she might be able to taste; she can certainly smell her, even see a slight glisten of arousal if looking just right in the light.

“Just get your mouth on me,” Hux snaps, her hand tightening in the hair at the back of Ren’s head, nudging her forward and unceremoniously into her crotch.

Ren doesn’t start in immediately despite the order, instead lifting her hand and using her thumb to spread Hux open, feeling every fantasy flicker to life at the sight of her pussy, pink and wet and right in front of her. She hears a groan emerge from her open mouth, ghosting a breath over Hux’s little clit and moving attention downward, carefully licking into the folds, not quite porn-star perfect, but neither so draping as Ren’s own. 

She’s never made crotchless panties, though she’s definitely let herself think about it, and right now she’s designing a few pairs in her head with every little gasp of inspiration from Hux’s mouth. She can already see it; Hux in thigh-highs and garters, lace up to her nipples, maybe wielding a –

“Oh,” Hux gasps, her hand tightening with a twist, rutting up against Ren’s face and forcing her nose further into the jumping nub of her clit. She throbs around Ren’s tongue, hips rolling nearly off the desk. “That awful mouth finally put to good use.”

Ren gives a lengthy suck on Hux’s clit, until the hand in her hair gets painful, pulls back suddenly aware of her own arousal; she can’t help but squeeze her legs together, feeling her own slick seep slow and distracting.  “Can I use my fingers?”

“Give,” Hux says, lifting her hand from the desk and holding it out, slightly shaky, until Ren offers her own for inspection. She brings it up for a cursory look, turning it over, then shoves it pointedly to her cunt, in front of Ren’s mouth. “ _Yes,_ put your fingers in me.”

Ren wets her fingers easily on the mess of slick and spit on Hux’s pussy, leaning forward to lap soft on Hux’s clit at the same time she slips a pair in with a low hum. She finds Hux loose, though she squeezes around Ren’s fingers almost right off, giving a moan that would buckle Ren’s knees if she weren’t already on the floor.

She starts slow, alternating thrusts of her fingers with turns of her tongue, nipping softly at Hux’s labia before sucking hard on her clit. She glances up to find Hux clutching at one of her breasts, and uses her free hand to replace it, pinching tight at the hard nipple when she curls her fingers inward.

Hux gasps and moans, legs spreading further and cunt throbbing tight, both hands tight in Ren’s hair. “Right there, that’s perfect – such a... such a good girl.”

Ren feels a whimper escape her mouth as a spasm seems to strike down through _her_ , face flooding with heat and trying to mute herself with a bitten tongue and faltering pant into Hux’s crotch. She drops her hand from Hux’s chest, clutching around nothing, then realizes a moment later that her other hand has gone completely still buried deep in Hux’s cunt. She forces herself to move again, pulling her fingers from Hux and rubbing at her clit with a momentary clumsiness, mouthing more than licking at her labia.

“Just like that,” Hux says, hips still rocking and thankfully not noticing the minor crisis.

Ren recovers with a steadier swirl of her tongue, repeating it a few more times before flattening it and swiping wide, tasting all she can with a sense of victory when Hux lets out a sharp, almost imperceptible gasp just as her cunt starts pulsing quick under Ren’s tongue. She does her best to work Hux through it, chin now sopping and feeling her own cunt throb weakly in desperate sympathy.

Hux pushes off a moment later, thumb a soft presence at Ren’s temple and rotating in unhurried circles. She uncurls her legs next, leaving Ren cold and feeling awkward, but only for a moment, as she next leans down in an impressive show of flexibility to lick into Ren’s mouth for a few seconds with little worry for the mess.

“You’ve made a mess of my floor,” Hux says, indicating with a glance downward, hand leaving Ren’s hair to wipe ineffectively at her chin, then retreating completely to prop her up at the desk.

Ren frowns and follows the gesture, only to feel her eyes go wide at the sight of thin filaments dipping from between her legs to the floor into scattered drops. “Fuck,” she mutters to herself, feeling her cunt throb again in some twisted agreement. She thought this only happened in porn, some trick with lube, but no – she’s so fucked. She’s always gotten pretty wet, but this is… _embarrassing_.

“Did you come?” Hux asks, slipping off her desk with a mocking tone to her voice.

“No,” Ren mutters, even though she’s not sure; if she did, it doesn’t count, and she’s certainly not telling Hux.

“If you say so,” Hux says, a twitch at the corner of her mouth.

“I do,” Ren mutters, swallowing at the sight of Hux peeling off her blazer, almost business-like in the behavior. Her tits are puffy, a result of earlier groping, and it’s so tempting to reach out for another tweak.

Hux nods upward, nudging with a light touch at Ren’s shoulder. “Get in your chair.”

Ren scrambles as best she can, her legs failing her some with an uncooperative numbness. She manages to sprawl into it, panting and face burning, and realizes she’ll never be able to sit here again without thinking about this; being naked, her fingers and chin still wet from Hux. and her own slick smearing against the dark leather.

Hux moves forward to loom over Ren in the next moment, hands settling on either arm of the chair and settling between Ren’s thighs as she evidently _looks_ some more, eyes trailing up and down Ren with an odd expression. She hums low, dipping momentarily to press her lips high on Ren’s cheek, a smirk across her lips when she leans back.

Ren hears a whine escape her throat, tilting her hips up and rocking forward, “Hux, come on.”

“What was that?” Hux asks, tutting some, a smirk spreading unabashed across her face. “Ask nicely.”

“Please?” Ren says, spreading her legs on the chair and desperate for anything, even if it’s just humping against Hux’s leg. “Miss Hux?”

“Don’t get cheeky,” Hux scolds, but the subsequent presence of her fingers is undeniable.

Ren tilts her hips up in relief, chasing the sensation as it sparks a tight pulse from her groin across the rest of her body, making her next gasp trail into a whimper. She tries to follow the fingers as they slide slow up her cunt, up and around without quite going in, breath going short with every intermittent press against her clit.

“Look at you,” Hux says, leaning down and taking Ren’s nipple in her mouth, hot and wet, then biting down and forcing a jolt of pleasure southward. She moves to mouth at the other, still muttering, and her fingertips are almost in, almost right there, and tortuously shallow. “So obscene. I can’t believe they don’t spill out of everything you wear.”

Ren feels like an epiphany strikes when she starts moving bodily back and forth on Hux’s fingers, satisfaction coursing through her and feeling dumb for not realizing it sooner – Hux wants to watch her _tits_. She shifts her shoulders in, trying to press her them together, and groans when Hux presses her fingers upward as reward, adding a third on the next thrust, prompting Ren to do her best riding those fingers into the chair.

She reaches out for the arm of the chair to keep balance after a few moments, chewing hard on her lip in concentration, but that soon proves impossible to keep up as her breaths turn to pants. It becomes even harder when Hux’s arm suddenly starts to move, jogging the entire rhythm with irregular swipes over Ren’s clit; inspiring sparks of pleasure up to her ears when fingers start kneading deliberately at her g-spot.

Hux leans in without warning, catching Ren in the middle of an inhale and kissing her deeply, confidently pushing her into the chair and somehow managing to make it even more unbearably hot. The slide of her tongue against Ren’s, her fingers moving in and out with audible slaps; the wet, salacious sounds of both filling the room.

Ren pulls away as a particularly strong throb bolts through her, biting her tongue against the noise she can feel winding up at the center of her chest, and finds herself thankful when Hux’s grip drifts from teasing her breast to around her mouth. She curls her own arms around Hux’s shoulders, listening to soft mumbles of nothing in her ear and quickly getting lost in the aching, throbbing heat in her cunt.

She shouts into the soft palm of Hux’s hand, squeezing her eyes shut and listening to little more than the rush of blood in her ears as she feels herself tighten around Hux’s fingers, tears welling in an instant at the persistent circling thumb over her clit guiding her through it. She lets one of her arms fall to the chair once the intensity ebbs a few seconds of eternity later, and exhales at length, blinking open her eyes and attention catching oddly on the shelving behind Hux, then remembering suddenly what it means – she’d somehow forgotten they were in her goddamn _shop_.

“So loud, aren’t you?” Hux mocks, her fingers still torturously moving, though getting slower and slower, until she eventually pulls out with a tease that sparks across Ren’s sensitive clit. She leans forward, voice low and just near Ren’s ear. “A shame I couldn’t hear you scream.”

Ren tries to think of something to say in return, maybe a line equally dirty to make Hux’s ears burn too, but she can barely catch her breath, heart thudding in her ears. She ends up sliding her hand from Hux’s shoulders to down around her waist, squeezing at the delicate swell of an ass.

“You lied, didn’t you?” Hux says, once she leans back, tapping Ren under the chin to force her to look up and brace her head on the back of the chair. “You came when I called you a _good girl_.”

Ren groans low, forcing her other arm up to cover her face. Her voice rasps up her throat when she speaks, “Fuck off. I did not.”

“You did,” Hux says simply, and there’s a slide of her fingers, soft into Ren’s hair. “Spoiled.”

Ren chews at her lip, finding herself biting back an unexpected smile. It’s not the first time she’s been called that, and definitely won’t be the last, but it’s never made her feel this self-satisfied.

Like it was true.

**Author's Note:**

> I know, there's far less lingerie in this than should be for the premise. The fic incorporates a bunch of different AU ideas, from Hux being a model to the jdrama Atelier, but the dress to lingerie was from [this company](https://impishlee.com/custom-bridal-lingerie/), which I've never been to but it looks cute.
> 
> I can be found on the [twitters](https://twitter.com/ezlebe?lang=en) and lesser so on [ tumblr](http://ezlebe.tumblr.com) at Ezlebe


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